The lost days
by Peta-Zeta
Summary: John finds a folder with the story of one of Sherlock's strangest cases: Irene Adler. (AU based on Théophile Gautier's "La morte amoureuse".) (Translation from the original "Los días perdidos")


_I remember that Sherlock was so tremendously jealous of his intimacy he used to notice the tiniest change that could have happened in his room. That's why I was so shocked when I found a folder of pages filled with his chaotic handwriting. It wasn't the folder what attracted my attention, given that it was in the middle of a messy pile of sheets and books, but its title: Irene Adler. I felt a shiver down my spine; although he never let me take part in the case, nor told me (or any of our friends and acquaintances) many things about that woman, I knew that her case was one of the most difficult ones that Sherlock had tried to solve. Until now, I only knew that her effect in my friend's mood was devastating._

_As I was saying, they were dark times when Sherlock acted in a strange way. Perhaps that's why this is handwritten and Sherlock kept it hidden: at first glance, I could see that it was a personal investigation, the one that only Sherlock could know, the one that could have destroyed his reputation and himself… I smiled bitterly as I thought that: in the end, Irene Adler couldn't destroy him, but some months after those events, Jim Moriarty had managed to kill him. Was that a clue, the reason why those papers were around there? Were there any connections between Irene and Moriarty or was it just a coincidence?_

_Although I felt horrible for doing what I did, I needed to satisfy my curiosity, so I threw the folder in the box where I was going to put my things and take them to my new flat (however hard Mrs Hudson insisted, I wasn't able to stay in the old flat we had shared). Now, alone in the darkness of my room, I prepare myself for enter what seems to be the most intimate conscience of the great Sherlock Holmes:_

**Irene Adler**

Irene Adler's case has been, without any doubt, the one which has affected me the most. I've faced thieves, kidnappers, murderers and all kinds of psychopaths, but none of them has been able to play me like Irene Adler did. I was affected to the point where I'm treating this as a case even though strictly it isn't: I will be a detective, a client, a victim and who knows if I'm guilty too. I can't trust anybody else for this case, so that I'll have to analyse and investigate myself.

The first time I saw Irene Adler, she was part of the expectant crowd that surrounded the scene of an accident with the result of one dead person and several injured people. It wasn't a complicated case; some minutes of observation inside the car and a couple of things I had to search on the Internet were enough. John was in the ambulance helping with the injured people and I was explaining to Lestrade where they could find the fugitive driver when a face among the morbid crowd attracted my attention: a short woman in a white blouse, with dark hair and blue eyes stared at me. At the beginning I thought it was an illusion, but when I focused I confirmed that I was wrong: whilst other people stood on tiptoes and rose their heads to see better, she looked at me steadily, as if we were alone (which, I must admit, intimidated and attracted me at the same time). As our glances crossed, she smiled faintly; however, I immediately turned back to Lestrade.

John and I weren't there for very much longer. I had already finished my job, so although Lestrade wanted me to stay until the car that had to take the corpse arrived and make sure that we hadn't missed any evidences, I called John and we ran away through the crowd who called my name and cheered me. When we were about to leave the crowd, a hand touched my arm and I saw a smiling blue-eyed woman by my side, closer than I had liked. I saw her blue eyes and kind smile just a few centimetres away from me; the wind moved her dark locks and one of them grazed me. (I should control myself; keep myself serious and objective when I describe her.) During the few seconds (which were too long to me) that we kept eye contact; I felt my throat burn and my hands frozen. As soon as I left her behind, that sensation faded, leaving a slight residue that I couldn't understand in that moment, but it became stronger and unbearable later.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked me when we arrived to Baker Street, "You aren't talking too much, like you usually do after solving a case."

"I'm thinking" I answered from my room; actually, I wasn't thinking about anything, but I didn't see any problem. "Besides, the case isn't finished yet, they have to find the driver and maybe there's something more behind the accident, so they still could call me again."

I supposed John was going to say something, but in that moment someone knocked and he went to open the door.

"Mr Holmes?" A woman's voice asked.

"He's coming. Please, sit down. We'll help you as soon as Sherlock is ready."

"This is for him" she said laconically.

I heard the door close and John turned surprised toward me, toying with a small grey paper envelope. I strode across the room and looked out of the window just in time to see a woman with long red hair and discrete but expensive clothes getting on a shiny black car. When she opened the door, I thought I saw, next to her, an arm in a white silk sleeve that looked familiar to me.

"Give me what she's given to you" I ordered John. "Give it to me; she said it's for me."

John put the envelope in my hand and I locked myself in my room again without paying attention to my friend's babbling; he was trying to convince me to tell him what it was inside the envelope, if it was a new case… Before I took out the content, I studied the envelope: soft and fine paper (the same that it's used for invitations to weddings and that kind of events), without decorations or engravings. I noticed a strong feminine perfume I couldn't identify. The card inside was made of a different material, a bit thicker and rigid than the envelope, but the same shade of pearl grey. It had the same perfume on it. It was handwritten with black ink.

The massage said: "You are invited to have dinner at my house, Bohemia, the night you choose. Irene Adler." So her name was Irene… it suddenly sounded like a melody to me. I read those words until I learned them by heart. I'm afraid of acknowledging, even to myself, that I repeated that phrase trying to figure out how Irene's voice was. Even I though seriously about accepting the invitation and having dinner with her that same night, until John walked into my room and took me out of my reverie. Then I realised I was acting with a stupidity that wasn't typical of me: I didn't know that woman, I didn't know where she lived, I had only seen her on the street. She was, without a doubt, a very beautiful woman, but that wasn't a valid reason to justify my behaviour. I still try to avoid falling…

-—-

_I remember that day, when they met for the first time, the redhead who gave me the envelope and left me standing by the door without even saying "hello" or "goodbye", Sherlock's sudden distracted attitude…_

_As soon as I finished the first two pages of the folder, I realised how late it was, so I left the rest for the next day. I was absorbed. I couldn't see Sherlock in that state. In some way, I was amused by his doubts, his surprise when he saw himself thinking like that; obviously, Sherlock had felt attracted to Irene Adler immediately, but what was normal for other people, for him it was a whole new world of mystery and primitive and inexplicable behaviour. If I didn't know how things continued, probably I would have been more amused reading my deceased friend's rambling about how weird it was to feel attracted to a woman for the first time in his life._


End file.
